


Bring out the Best in Me

by everydaysoul



Series: Fuck, Kill, Love: The Murder Husbands AU [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bottom Jensen, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Organized Crime, Top Jared
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-07-18 03:54:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7298434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everydaysoul/pseuds/everydaysoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen is a sixteen-year-old runaway, and probably a little fucked up in the head to boot. Jared's the cruel crime boss who takes a very personal interest in him, only to dismiss him because he's too <i>young.</i></p><p>Jensen is completely fascinated, and decides he <i>will</i> have Jared no matter what. Little does he know he'll be getting in way over his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Jensen is underage (as stated in the summary), there will be consensual but unnegotiated kink between Jensen and Jared, and (at the risk of giving away spoilers) implied mild dubcon later on between Jensen and a male OC.

“Hey there, kid. How much to fuck that pretty little mouth of yours?”

It’s only Jensen’s third night doing this, but he prides himself on being a quick learner. He twists his fingers into the hem of his shirt – black, artfully torn up in places, so tight that it rides up his hips every time he moves to reveal a pale slip of his flat stomach.

It isn’t his favorite shirt to wear; he’s long outgrown the stupid thing, but it makes him look younger, naïve. More vulnerable. Playing up his chosen act of the lost, runaway teen, so desperate for money that he’s resorted to turning tricks in dirty alleys.

The man looks like he’s old enough to be Jensen’s father, hair graying around the edges and buttons straining around a beer belly. The car’s a little beat up and reeks of cigarette smoke and too much cologne, cloying even through the rolled down window, but Jensen isn’t going to be choosy as long as the guy’s got the money.

“Twenty,” he says, eyes darting about as though he’s scared.

A predatory leer stretches across the john’s face as he looks up at him, and Jensen knows he looks the perfect picture of the frightened street kid. “Don’t worry, pretty, I’ll be gentle. Why don’t you hop in for a bit? I’ll take you for a ride round the block, find somewhere quiet where the cops won’t find us, hey?”

Jensen pretends to hesitate, then nods jerkily. Gets in the passenger side, folds his hands in his lap as they drive off and carefully keeps his eyes on the road. He can sense the john eyeing him.

“You got a name, kid?” the man asks.

“I’m Jen,” Jensen says, fidgeting in his seat. They’re slowing down for a signal and when the car stops he says, “And I want half before we do anything.”

The man laughs. “It’s just twenty bucks, Jenny boy.”

Jensen hates the nickname, and has to duck his head to hide his scowl of irritation. It’s been like that since he started wandering the streets looking for customers, an endless litany of _pretty boy_ ’s and _Jenny_ ’s. Like he’s a delicate little flower and they all want to coo over him, take him apart petal by petal.

“But I need the money,” he says instead. Adds a little pleading note into his voice.

That gets him another bark of laughter. “How old are you, Jen? You look like you should still be in bed, getting ready for school tomorrow morning.”

“Eighteen,” Jensen lies easily. This can go either of two ways, he knows; there are johns who still have some shred of conscience and will refuse to have anything to do with him when they find out he’s underage, and there are the sick fucks who thrive off preying on kids. By this point he’s got nothing left to lose – the guy can either delude himself into thinking Jensen’s old enough to fuck, or he can call him out on his lie and still fuck him anyway.

They end up in a deserted street a few blocks away. The guy pulls up under a streetlight, lets the engine idle and turns to Jensen. His smile should be terrifying, in that way makes it clear he’s picked Jensen up for a lot more than a quick blowjob.

“Give me ten first, and I’ll blow you,” Jensen says stubbornly, holding out his palm.

“If you say so, Jenny,” the guy says, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. “Anything for a sweet little thing like you.”

Jensen fumes, forces himself to wait until the guy has his wallet open and is thumbing through his bills, then pulls out his knife. He has the small gleaming blade pressed up against the guy’s neck in less than a second.

“Hand it over,” Jensen says calmly, grinning at how the john’s face goes slack in shock. “Hurry up, give me your wallet or I slice your throat open.”

The guy seems too stunned to respond, but doesn’t resist when Jensen snatches his wallet out of his hands. Jensen glances at it; the cards are useless but there should be enough cash to last him till the end of the week. He shoves it all into his own pocket.

“Thanks,” Jensen says, already reaching behind him for the door handle. He nicks the guy anyway with his knife – asshole deserved it for thinking Jensen an easy target – and nimbly slides out.

Jensen laughs to himself as he sprints to safety. He ducks into a narrow alleyway, pauses just long enough to slip his knife back into its sheath hidden in his sneakers as he listens out for any sign the guy’s chasing after him. Most of them usually give up when they realize there’s nothing they can do about it, unless they want to alert anyone who might be watching to the fact they just picked up an obviously underage hooker.

So far not a single one of them have come even close to catching him.

Jensen slows to a brisk walk, pulls out the wallet again and efficiently divests it of cash and a handful of change, and dumps the rest. Then he smoothes down his shirt, peers into a nearby shop display to adjust his hair, and goes to scope the streets for his next customer.

 

 

 

Jensen doesn’t remember ever being afraid of anything his whole life. He remembers being seven or eight, sitting in detention for starting fights on the playground. He remembers breaking a boy’s nose when he was about eleven, a solid punch to the face that left his knuckles scraped and sore for hours. He remembers sitting in the principal’s office as they called his parents to tell them that he’s about to be suspended from school.

Mom cried at first, the tears soon giving way to anger then silent resignation. Jensen doesn’t think he ever cared at all.

He’s still not sure why he left, but he did.

His landlord is a grumpy old man who gives zero fucks that Jensen’s clearly too young to be renting a room on his own, which suits him perfectly well. The room is small and the even tinier bathroom stinks, but it’s preferable to spending his nights out on the streets or in filthy all-night diners.

Sometimes he wonders if anyone’s even looking for him; he’s sure the rest of his family have given up on him, and the cops wouldn’t bother with a teen runaway with a record like his. The thought is liberating.

He hums as he gets dressed for the night ahead.

 

 

 

It’s raining, a light drizzle that ruins his hair, but he scores three more johns that night. One of them is absurdly loaded and Jensen gets over two thousand in crisp bills from him, and he’s ensconced in his usual alley counting his stolen loot when it happens.

“I don’t do multiples,” Jensen says automatically, straightening up slowly and stuffing the money into his pocket and fuck, he wishes he’d gone straight home after that last john. “I’m not about to have my ass wrecked by a pack of brute monkeys.”

There are three of them approaching, all tall bulky men dressed in black, arms hanging stiffly by their hips. They surround him, trapping him against the wall and Jensen lets them, chin tilted up in defiance.

“The boy who used to work this corner left last week and never came back,” Jensen says, because they’re obviously from the local gang. He’s known about them, the network of thugs that own the half the streets in the city and several others across the country. He’s figured out that they control the street kids too, the way all of them seem to know each other but send wary, narrow-eyed looks his way.

Jensen saw a bunch of them huddled together once, pooling out fistfuls of crumpled cash, and quietly stalked one of the girls as she passed the money to a faceless driver in a heavily tinted sedan.

He’s honestly surprised that it’s taken them this long to catch up to him.

One of the men snorts, says, “You’re about to have more than your ass wrecked, kiddo,” and Jensen belatedly realizes it’s the same john he’d stolen the two thousand from.

They come at him all at once; Jensen yelps, struggling and biting but a gloved hand claps over his mouth and nose and forces his head back. Another pair of hands wrench his arms back painfully and thin cool rings of metal click into place around his wrists – handcuffs, he thinks in a daze – and one of them roughly kicks him in the back of his knees, and he buckles down to the wet pavement.

“You will come quietly,” another one of them says, and Jensen supposes he’s the leader of their little gang, the way he’s standing at ease as the other two hold him down with strong grips, “Or I can break your legs and put you in the trunk.”

The hand over his mouth moves to grip his hair instead and Jensen takes a deep breath, grinning savagely, then says, “I don’t know about coming quietly, I might be a screamer if you fuck me hard enough.”

There’s a deep, unamused chuckle from the thug holding his arms. “Kid’s a decent actor, he was all shy and nervous when I told him I wanted to fuck his ass. It’s too bad he’s a cute one, it’ll be a shame to mess his face up.”

“It’s thirty if you’re going to come on my face,” Jensen says. He can’t help it; he’s probably seconds away from having his brains blown out over territory and all he can do is laugh because everything’s just fucking hilarious. “But I’ll have to charge you guys double if you’re all going to do it together.”

“ _Enough_ ,” their leader says, and something about his tone of voice makes Jensen fall silent. “Gag him and put him in the car.”

They shove a wad of cloth into his mouth and wrap a long strip of duct tape over his lips and when they pull out a second dark strip of cloth, Jensen starts struggling again.

 _Fuck you_ , Jensen tries to say, furious now.

“Behave yourself,” the leader says, and suddenly there’s a cool press of steel between his eyes and Jensen freezes, finally starting to feel a faint hint of anxiety threading through him, “And I might convince the boss to let you live. I think you're smart enough to guess that he’s not a very pleasant person when he’s pissed off.”

Jensen suppresses a shiver, suddenly intrigued. This time he doesn’t fight back, but lets them blindfold him and manhandle him over to a waiting car.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The drive to wherever the fuck they’re taking him is uncomfortable and nauseating especially with the blindfold over his eyes and the too-large ball of cloth pressing down on his tongue, but Jensen refuses to be cowed. Instead he curls up on the warm leather seats, pretends that his arms aren’t aching from the handcuffs and wonders what’s going to happen to him.

The entire ride passes by in silence, save for the smooth hum of the engine and an occasional beep from a phone. After a bit, Jensen deliberately uncurls himself and blindly kicks out – they took his knife but hadn’t bothered to restrain his legs – and feels an immense satisfaction when he feels his foot connect with something soft.

“Fucking brat,” a voice says, and for the second time Jensen feels the barrel of a gun cocked up against his forehead.

“Listen up, boy,” another voice says, and Jensen thinks it’s their leader this time, “You’re not the first kid we’ve caught doing this, and I can tell you what the boss did to the last boy wasn’t very pretty. Do that again and I can promise you, you’re not surviving past tonight.”

Jensen scowls through his gag and focuses on not choking on his own drool for the rest of the journey. Then it occurs to him that he’s actually being _kidnapped_ , and everything starts being hilarious again.

Finally he feels the car slowing down and the engine turning off. The men speak in hushed voices, then the door opens and a rough hand is hauling him up and out. He nearly stumbles a few times as they lead him down what feels like a paved driveway and then – he assumes they pass through a narrow door into some sort of a house because the ground below his feet suddenly switches to soft carpeting.

And then the carpet gives way to something harder and he’s being shoved down into a chair. He hears voices, then someone unlocks his handcuffs, pulls his arms roughly to the side and the cuffs click back into place again, this time tying him to the chair by his wrists. Then the blindfold and the tape over his mouth are ripped off, and Jensen has to scrunch his eyes shut at the sudden brightness.

He nearly gags as he works the cloth out of his mouth with his tongue. He spits it out, then looks up to see two men staring down at him.

One of them is the leader of the little gang who kidnapped him, the one who had put the gun to his head. The other – Jensen assumes he’s _the_ boss, the way he’s looking Jensen up and down with a cool, calculating look, hands at his hips. He looks dangerous, tall and broad-shouldered, and a lot younger than Jensen would have expected a crime lord to be.

He’s immediately fascinated, drawn like a moth to a flame.

“Hi,” Jensen says, and it earns him a snort.

“You’re daring.” The boss looks thoroughly unimpressed. His voice is nice and smooth, and his eyes are cold. “So _you’re_ the kid who’s been stealing from my customers? What’s your name?”

“Jen,” Jensen says. He bats his eyelashes and pastes on a sultry smirk. “You know, if you wanted to fuck me all you had to do was ask, you didn’t need to go to all the trouble of kidnapping me.”

The boss steps up to him, so close that Jensen can smell the pine and musk of his cologne. He towers over Jensen, could probably break his neck in a single move and Jensen wouldn’t be able to fight him off, even if he didn’t have his hands bound behind his back.

“Let’s try this again,” the man says. “My name’s Jared. What’s your name?”

“I told you,” Jensen says. “It’s Jen.”

Jared slaps him.

Jensen blinks in shock, black spots dancing across his field of vision. His head had snapped so painfully to one side from the force of Jared’s blow that his neck aches. He swipes his tongue over the insides of his cheek and tastes the familiar metallic tang of blood.

He glares up at Jared out of the corner of his eyes. “I’m Jensen,” he says resentfully, then adds with resentment coloring his voice, “Ackles.”

Jared smiles, but his expression doesn’t change. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now, Jensen, tell me… Who are you working for?”

“Not working for anyone,” Jensen mumbles. His cheek still smarts and it’s making him sulky.

“And how would I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Why would you even bother asking if you’re not going to believe me anyway?”

Jared wraps his hands around Jensen’s throat. Jensen’s eyes widen and he goes rigid, but Jared doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t apply any pressure. Instead he slowly moves his hands down, lower, slides under the low collar of Jensen’s shirt until his fingers are resting at the slope of his shoulders, thumbs stroking down his collarbone.

Jared’s hands are warm and dry, and Jensen can acutely feel each roughened pad of his fingers like a many-pointed vice gripping his bare skin.

Then Jared’s thumbs suddenly dig into the soft hollow just above his collarbones, presses so hard against the tender bundle of nerves there like he’s trying to fucking dislocate Jensen’s entire ribs from his chest, and it’s sheer _agony_.

Jensen’s mouth falls open in a silent, broken shout of pain and tears spring unbidden to his eyes because it fucking _hurts_ , “Stop stop _stop_ I’m telling the truth!” His voice rising into a scream, “ _I’m not working for anyone let me go please stop-_ ”

The pain is so intense that it takes Jensen a long moment to register that Jared no longer has his hands on him. His heart is still racing frantically. He almost cries a little, tries to push himself up and struggle all at the same time but only succeeds in rocking the chair dangerously to one side.

“Look at him, he’s just a fucking kid,” the other man says.

“He is,” Jared agrees, and Jensen looks up at him through wet eyes.

“Fuck off,” Jensen says. They’re going to kill him and he’s going to die…

Jared just laughs, crouches down. “So, Jensen. Obviously we’re not going to let you go, so here are your options. One: you return to the streets but this time you’re going to be the good little hooker you were pretending to be. Let them fuck your mouth, your ass, whatever – I don’t care – as long as you give a portion of your earnings to me. In return, my men will protect you from the bad ol’ cops and social workers.

Jensen shivers. “How about option number two?”

Jared looks thoughtful. “I could always use a new fucktoy,” he says softly, “And you _are_ a pretty boy. I can see how so many customers fell for you. Keep you naked and chained to my bed… But I also believe in rewarding my men who do well. Misha here,” he stops to gesture to the other guy with a slight tilt of his chin, “is one of my most loyal and faithful, and I haven’t given him anything in a long time. I’m sure you’ll do very well as his personal bitch.”

“And if I say no to that too?”

“We kill you,” Jared says bluntly. He straightens up. “Well, Jensen?”

Jensen thinks, then says, “Let me work for you.” And obviously that gets Jared’s attention again, the way his eyebrows rise, “But I’m not going to fuck just anyone. I can work for you, I’m not stupid, I know stuff.”

Jared looks at him. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

This time Jensen’s not even surprised when Jared slaps him again.

“Listen up, brat,” Jared hisses, hand curling around Jensen’s neck and this time he _does_ choke him briefly, cutting off his air with crushing pressure, “If you’re going to be working for me, you’d better learn this: I will _not_ tolerate anyone lying to me.”

His jeans feel uncomfortably tighter than usual. He gasps when Jared finally releases him, sucking in a deep breath and wincing, “Fine, _fine_. I’m sixteen.”

Jared makes a small sound of disbelief. “You’re sixteen. And why the fuck would I have any other use for a sixteen-year-old? I spent over ten years building up my business into what I have now, I’m not that stupid that I would let some immature brat ruin everything I’ve worked for.”

“I would let _you_ fuck me,” Jensen says without thinking, and he realizes that he does mean it as soon as the words leave his mouth. Jared is attractive, probably at least ten years older than him, with long hair and cruel eyes and arms corded with muscle. He would have no compunction about hurting Jensen if he wanted, and Jensen… sort of wants that.

“Oh, really?”

Jared bends down again, one hand braced on the arm of the chair, the other snaking down to cup Jensen’s cock through his pants. Jensen jerks forward, stunned and suddenly fucking _aroused_ as Jared kneads roughly at his balls. There’s not even a hint of gentleness in his touch.

Jensen pulls at his restraints in frustration. One whole week of working the streets, flirting and pretending to duck his head in embarrassment as potential johns leer suggestively at him, and he’s never felt _this_ desperate.  

“You actually _like_ this?” Jared sounds mildly incredulous.

“I told you,” Jensen says, hisses as Jared steps back and his hips buck fruitlessly up into nothing, “I’d let you.”

Jared gives him one last cynical look. Jensen glares back at him, humiliated, angry and so turned on that he’s not sure anymore what he wants now, but then Jared turns to the other guy – he’s the one Jared was calling Misha, Jensen remembers – and says, “Get him out of my sight.”

Misha inclines his head. “That’s all? What if he decides to cause more trouble?”

Jared pauses in the doorway. “Then you kill him,” he says, and he’s gone.

 

 

 

They take him back the same way they brought him in – again, blindfolded and gagged, hands tied behind his back – and unceremoniously drop him off right in front of the dingy, narrow flight of stairs that lead up to the sad excuse for an apartment he rents.

“We know where you live,” Misha tells him flatly as he rubs his chafed wrists. “Jared's offer still stands, but if you have half the sense you should have, you would stay out of trouble.”

Jensen doesn’t respond. He watches as the car drives away, then stomps up to his room.

They’d taken his knife and money. He strips down, jerks off in the shower to the thoughts of Jared holding him down, fucking into him in sharp brutal thrusts. Experimentally works a wet finger into his hole, slides it in all the way down to the knuckle and grimaces when the tight muscle protests against the intrusion.

His wrists are still marked with ugly red-raw rings even hours later, so Jensen wanders around the nearby shops until he finds a dusty bin of jelly bracelets in a store selling random knick knacks and bits of jewelry and accessories that are at least five years out of fashion. He amuses himself for a while, picking out the most decent-looking bracelets he can find, and pays with a handful of crumpled cash.

He slips the bracelets on. The colorful silicone bands only conceal his bruises somewhat, but Jensen thinks he kinda likes them anyway. He gets a cheap knife from another shop to replace his old one, stops by the local fast food place for a greasy burger, then goes back to his room to come up with his next plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That sad moment when you're looking up porn to find inspiration for your fic and you discover a really cute model and then you find out that he's retired.


End file.
